Dancing Alone
by Diddlepie
Summary: The scene where Gaby dances in the hotel room has fascinated me. Why she did what she did, a rather gutsy and dangerous move was never really explained nor the attraction she and Illya have for each other. This is from Gaby's POV and my thoughts as to her motivation. You may or may not agree, but this is what I came up with.


_The dancing scene from the movie has interested me as I've wondered just what Gaby's motivation would be to do what she did, essentially a pretty gutsy and dangerous move. This is my interpretation of it which you may or may not agree with. The movie doesn't give us any dialogue to really explain Gaby's and Illya's attraction to each other, so I've filled in at least Gaby's motivation with what I think was going through her mind._

 _I'm working on a much longer piece, a story, but thought I'd take a break and do this._

 _All errors are mine. Please forgive if a few slipped through._

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She hated the Russians. She hated everyone to be truthful but the Russians she hated the most. When they defeated the Nazis they brought an occupying force and it was the final insult as they divided up her country like it was a cake. Just cut off the piece you want and it's yours. The spoils of war.

The War had been wrong. She never supported the Nazis and their policies, but there wasn't much a simple girl could do to stop it. She did what most Germans did and tried to survive it, literally. The bombings, the hunger, the cold, the paranoia that someone was watching you, judging you and always the uncertainty of when will it end or will it ever end.

Her foster parents took care of her as best they could but they had their own children to think of: 3 boys. She knew the reason they took her in was to have a girl; a daughter. She'd tried to be a daughter but by the time she arrived, she was old enough to realize the reason she was there was simply abandonment. Like an unwanted pet when it is no longer cute, or endearing or you're just don't have time anymore. You drive it to the country, unload it and drive away all the while telling yourself it will find a new home, when in fact it will most likely just die of starvation or predation.

Now even her foster family was gone. Taken by the war. Two of her brothers killed, the third ran away to where no one knew. Her foster mother died of a broken heart, she knew, and now her foster father was dead too.

She had no room in her heart for anyone. It was closed. Too badly damaged to ever open again. She was a mechanic, and she cared for cars now. They'd never hurt her, or run away. And even if they broke down, she knew they'd come back to her. No, her family, her automobiles, would never hurt her, and they would always appreciate her touch.

So today she is standing in a candy store of fancy dresses, and she learns from her American rescuer she has to pretend she has a Russian fiancé! The American would have been more acceptable, but her new boss, the ever so British Alexander Waverly, told her she HAD to go along with the plan the Americans and Russians devised. It didn't matter that no one else but her knew of him and this command. If she wanted to stay on the west side of the Wall, she had to do as she was told. That had been very clear.

She would never forget the shock when she realized HE was in the dress shop. The man, the thing, that had attacked them the night before with ferocity that even shocked her, and not much shocked her anymore. He towered over her and she ran out of the shop when she heard the "plan." It was only the American's reassurance and the knowledge that this was her way out of East Berlin that kept her from running away.

But she knew she'd have her revenge. That night she decided if she had to be stuck in the same room with him, she'd drink herself into a stupor. She'd annoy, embarrass, and taunt him with her liberated dance driving him to distraction so he'd have to stop his foolish game of chess he played against himself.  
The liquor dampened her fear when he told her to turn off her music. The liquor melted her fear of his size, his strength, his power over her. And the liquor gave her the boldness to strike him not once, but twice in the face. And when she couldn't antagonize him anymore, she drove into him with a body slam sending them both to the floor.

She knew from the start he could kill. He was KGB. She had seen them in action. And yet as she rolled with him on the floor trying to hurt him, and even more importantly trying to get him to hurt her, he wouldn't. She wanted proof that he was nothing but a machine with no morals, no empathy, an empty shell of a human. He could have hurt her badly, could have taken advantage of her and she would have no recourse. Who would she complain too? The head of the KGB? Stalin? She was an East German girl, worth something only for her missing father. No one would care as long as he didn't kill her.

But he didn't hurt her. She could tell he was even trying to protect her from bruising and bumping as they wrestled on the floor. Her rage subsided as the alcohol took its final toll, and she ended up straddling him, pinning his shoulders to the floor. It could be the other way, she knew. He could easily throw her off and pin her with his full weight crushing her lungs, filling her with fear, powerlessness and shame, while he leered at her helplessness. But he didn't.

And then she realized she wanted to kiss him. The enemy. Her fight was drained, her hate at least quenched for that day. She remembered falling into him, and he was warm and solid. His arms were strong and he gently began to encircle her. And then she woke up in bed. Tucked in.

It was morning and he wasn't there, but his bed had been slept in. He hadn't touched her other than putting her in bed.

Who was this man who dispite her efforts to hate him, close her heart to all men, had somehow found a small hole and planted just the beginning of hope. He was a Russian, the enemy, a trained killer, a dangerous man and yet somehow she knew they shared something much deeper. The need to prove they were worthwhile with something to offer. Maybe they had both been abandoned like worthless pets. But maybe they both had a reason they could be loved.

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 _I hope you liked it. I'll work on a second piece which is from Illya's POV if there's interest._

 _Thanks for reading!_


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